


Liability

by StHarold



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Exes, M/M, Mention of alcohol, Sad Ending, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StHarold/pseuds/StHarold
Summary: and in the end they were just humans,drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal their brokenness.





	Liability

**Author's Note:**

> This work was partially inspired by Lorde's song called Liability (hence the name), I suggest that you'd listen to it while reading.

_get you wild, make you leave._

 

It’s quiet and empty in the house. All blinds are firmly closed, so Harry doesn’t even know what time of the day it is. He’s just lying on the bed, feeling like the biggest cliché in the world.

He’s been unaware of what’s at stake for a long time now. In a week, he’ll be debuting as a solo artist. Something he’s been waiting for, longing for for so damn long, it’s happening.  This is a finish line, and a new life ahead. He doesn’t feel anxious when he thinks about it anymore. He’s been giving his feelings a rest lately.

Harry remembers how many bottles of red wine there were in the bar at the beginning of the week. He gets up and heads towards the bar that’s downstairs, counts again and frowns. Not much of an optimistic calculation, to be honest. But that’s only because the boy loves the taste of red wine so much, is all. There are no other reasons. There simply can’t be. 

Sometimes he does feel the need to talk to somebody. He might call Anne, Gemma, sometimes Ed or Nick. Sometimes he just goes to the studio and tries to come up with anything new. But inspiration hasn’t struck him ever since he finished the record.

Harry checks the time. It’s 2:04 AM. He sighs heavily and falls back onto the exquisite silk of the sheets. Although the windows are all open, it’s stiff in here, and Harry has no idea what to do with himself. He has a nauseous feeling that something as precious as oxygen itself vanished from his life completely. He might have a clue what it is. But the rational in him knows too well that it’s a part of his past that will be forgotten in a week.

The spring air has always made him want to cry, so fresh and clean, so pristine. April is the cruelest month. It’s always been like that.

Harry’s thoughts are all over the place, and the boy doesn’t know which one to pick up. Wine doesn’t work anymore. But it’s okay, the wine isn’t the only spirit living in that bar.

To be alone is a devastating feeling. Harry once was the one who craved to be alone, to hide from camera flashes and paps, but sometimes, on days like this, loneliness just doesn’t make sense. But for some reason he keeps hiding and laying low, only going out when it’s vital.

Harry puts his hand on his chest and can tell right away that his heart beats way faster than it normally would. It’s like his body gives up on him, too.

The boy’s itching inside, hand hovering over the phone, the alcohol decides for him, and he types just two words.

“Come over”

***

 

Louis Tomlinson is about to drink his third (fouth?) shot, when he registers his phone buzzing inside his pocket.

If a situation like this happened six months ago, he most likely would’ve ignored it and went on with whatever he was doing. Nothing too serious could happen that would need his immediate response back then. The kids didn’t depend on him that much. But with Jay’s death everything changed. He can’t just let himself be that careless. He wouldn’t let his mom down like that, never in a million years.

So he misses his turn and checks out his messages instead. The message he gets is a far cry from what he expected. The boy blinks away the blur in his eyes and checks again.  
“Um?” is all he finds himself typing. With a puzzled look on his face, he turns back to his friends and catches up with his shots. He doesn’t want to think right now, but the memories are crawling into his heads before he can mute them. Moments and feeling, nothing too bizarre, but it still hurts. They still fill up his head when he can’t sleep. Not that he thinks about it all the time, because that would be… sad at the very least, and Louis has been trying to move on. But at times like this he’s reminded of how much it burns. How disgustingly much he still thinks about it. Whatever they are now, he still remembers the way they once were.

The phone beeps.

“Please.”

Louis frowns. He knows Harry too well, and he knows that Styles would never ask if it wasn’t urgent.

So instead of not giving a damn, it only makes sense that he prefers to get deeper in the mess that is Harry Styles.

 

Harry has no idea what he’s doing. Or why he asked Louis to come over. It’s been almost a year now, but all Harry needs right now, needs like a breath of fresh air, is Louis beside him. He can’t even explain it to himself. Ruffling through his messy curls, he just sits and waits. Louis never texted back, so maybe it’s all in vain. He rubs his eyes and finds that his lashes are wet. He doesn’t remember when he started crying.

His own company scares him to death. He doesn’t have any bad thoughts or ideas, he just… One minute he feels empty and indifferent, the next -  terribly, unbearably, overwhelmingly emotional.

A beep lets him know somebody’s at the door. Harry’s both relieved and terrified. He feels like an innocent man spotted at the crime scene at the wrong time.

He gets up and tries to walk in a straight line towards the door. Every step he takes makes his heart pound twice as hard, he even wonders if Louis can hear it too.  With his lips dry and curls disheveled, he feels like a complete wreck.

But there's no way back now, so with a heavy heart and even heavier head the boy opens the door.

He's here. Louis is here, and Harry can't believe his eyes. Because Louis doesn't look any better than him. He's as fucked up, Harry knows it for sure. Takes a wreck to know one.

“Hi”, - Louis says, looking both exhausted and puzzled, - “what's up?”

It's like Harry forgot every single word in existence. His tongue just fails to move. Louis is here, and even though he seems much skinnier than he was 6 months ago, much more tired and his eyes don't have the glow Harry used to cherish, he's still here, right in front of him. He's a broken, muted version of himself, and so is Harry. As if somebody turned the exposure all the way down.

The universe where they could heal each other doesn't exist anymore.

Louis blinks slowly, like he's on the verge of falling asleep. The slightest moves he's making are so endearing to Harry, and his pathetic heart sinks a little.

“I'm..” - his voice breaks and goes into whisper, so he doesn't even try anymore.

Harry feels a lot and doesn't have anything to say. It's just the way he is. Maybe that's why Louis stopped wanting him at some point. Maybe that's why he felt the need to find someone else. Someone who would actually speak their mind.

“Gonna give me a silent treatment, really?” - Louis chuckles bitterly, the piercing blue of his eyes burrowing into Harry's. He's clearly not happy to be here.

 

The boy feels like he could cry right now. He only wants to know where he went wrong. Why Louis got rid of him and never looked back. But above all, there's this desire boiling up inside of him, the only thing on his mind, spinning like a broken record, driving him crazy.

Never in his life has he wanted to kiss Louis so bad. The cruelest game of them all: watch, but don't you dare touch. Touch, but don’t taste.

The silence grows to be unbearable. Why doesn't Louis just leave? Why won't he just fucking leave? Wouldn't be the first time anyway.

Louis takes a few steps closer.

"Why why why why why why", a tiny voice in Harry’s head breaks through his whiskey induced blur.

He feels Louis' hand on his shoulder.

⁃ You okay? Hey, - Louis shakes him slightly, Harry’s shoulder burns where Louis’ squeezing it.  

It might be the rasp in Louis’ voice what pushes him over the edge. That rasp sounds like home. Louis’ very presence feels like home. The home Harry’s been away from for a while, and now, when he’s back, nostalgia washes over him in tidal waves, breaks him down and makes him pray for his own sanity.

Harry does the only thing that makes sense to him right now. He leans in and softly presses his lips against Louis'. Louis tastes sad and drunk, and Harry feels like a marauder, almost guilty of how much he wants this. The boy prays for Louis to push him away and leave, but the latter responds. He actually responds, his arms around Harry’s shoulders, he licks into his mouth like he’s been dy _ing_ for that. Harry’s body goes pliant just at the thought of it, the possibility that maybe, Louis wants him back.

Whiskey meets vodka, but feels more like a collision of two neutron stars that are about to die. Maybe, it’s best if they die colliding with each other rather than exploding on their own.

Louis’ hands are suddenly everywhere, his jacket smells of expensive perfume and nasty cigarettes and the mixture is driving Harry insane, his teeth tugging at Louis’ lips, sucking on it like he can’t get enough. He could never, never in his life get enough of these lips.

Harry completely misses the moment when he stops leading and Louis takes over. Still all over his mouth, he softly pushes Harry back into the room. It’s pitch dark, and the only thing Harry knows is that he genuinely wants whatever is going to happen. If it makes things even more complicated, he doesn’t care. If it breaks his heart all over again, he doesn’t care.

Louis grasps his hips, almost too violently, as if claiming ownership, but Harry finds it exiting in some twisted way. He makes tiny, breathy sounds when Louis deepens the kiss. Too hot to handle.

When Louis pushes him onto the bed and sits on top of him, Harry loses count of how many times he started his prayer, but never finished. He looks into Louis’ eyes only to find them darkened by the need, pupils dilated to the point where you can’t see the blue. His lips are rouge and puffy from all the kissing and biting, and Harry can swear on his life that this is the most gorgeous Louis’ ever looked. 

Next thing Harry knows is that his shirt is unbuttoned, and Louis goes straight to business. Every bruise he kisses onto his skin is like a rose in Harry’s imaginary garden. His lips are so soft, but the way he sucks in the pale skin is borderline aggressive, and this controversy is beautiful to Harry. He can’t help but let a little moan slip out of his mouth every time Louis’ finds a new, yet unmarked spot.

The boy is drunk on feeling needed; this is the best he’s felt in a while.

Louis bites and sucks, claiming and stumping his body, kisses him as if he tastes of heaven, his hands clasping around Harry’s wrists and pining them onto the sheets. Harry feels helpless, but this is the only saving he’s going to get. The boy is in and out of his mind, and the things Louis does to his body are the only proof it’s real.

The moment he feels Louis inside makes him feel almost blessed. They’ve had sex a million times before, but this one feels special. Everything feels so intense between them, Harry’s heart is about to jump out of his ribcage when Louis starts pushing, thrusting into him. He whimpers, his curls are all over the pillows and wrists still held down by Louis’ grasp. He feels tears rolling down his temples, so he shuts his eyes because if he doesn’t, he might sob just looking at Louis hovering above him. 

Louis’ lips brush over Harry’s ear, “Hey”, he barely even registers Louis’ whisper. He feels Louis’ lips on his wet temples, kissing away the tears, and then he gets down to his jawline, leaving a trail of small kisses along it. Louis reconnects their lips, and everything is just so tender, so overwhelming. Louis slows down the tempo, and Harry cries right into his mouth, “Lou”, he manages breathlessly, in between sobs, “I’m…” But Louis kisses him senseless, making it clear that talking can wait.

Harry tries to balance out his breathing pattern, but every time he so much as catches the glimpse of Louis’ eyes, soft but desperate, he’s caught up in a storm of feelings he thought he’d forgotten. Being high off just the touch. Craving the taste of Louis’ lips. Being fucked into oblivion by the same person who whispers sweet nothings into his ears while going as deep as possible.

He thought he was wrecked before. Well, he might have to reconsider.

Because when Louis hits the right spot, it becomes entirely too much. Harry bites his lips so hard they bleed, moaning, his whole body itching when he finally explodes. So many thoughts are racing though his head at this exact moment, and they all sound the same. But he doesn’t say anything, because whatever he says now can be chalked up to the overwhelming feeling of relief. Harry doesn’t want to be that person.

Louis soon follows suit and falls right by Harry’s side, breathing hard, face shiny with sweat, drops rolling down his neck.

Harry closes his eyes, wishing nothing more than to never wake up from this dream. His body hurts like he’s been hit by a double-decker bus, but this is the best hurt he’s ever felt.

A soft kiss lands between his shoulder blades.

It’s never been worse. It’s never been better.

***

It’s still dark when Harry’s woken up by something barely coherent. He feels the bed shift slightly, so he opens his eyes.

He sees Louis’ bare back, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed putting on his jeans. Harry’s heart suddenly sinks to the very bottom. He doesn’t even have to ask. He sits up, sheets wrapped around his pale skin obviously make enough noise for Louis to notice.

He slowly turns around. The moonlight breaks through the gap in the curtains and falls right on his face. Louis’ eyes are all shades of guilt. Harry wants none of this. The anxiety makes its way back into Harry’s head, laughing at his weakness, his naiveté. Feels a lot like screaming with your mouth shut.

Every tattoo on his exhausted body is itching, screaming Louis’ name. Deep in his heart Harry knows this is how it’s supposed to be.

Harry knows he’s too much for anyone. Louis was just kind enough to tolerate him for 6 years. And Harry is thankful.

“Harry”, Louis whispers, his head hanging low.

He looks up and meets Harry’s gaze. Louis’ bites his lower lip and reaches out to tuck the unruly curls behind Harry’s ear. Harry’s falling apart inside. Everything hurts.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes all the strength Harry has left not to break down. It’s hard giving up someone that means the world to you. Especially for the second time, Harry learned it the hard way.

“I’m not”, Harry manages, his whisper comes out more like a rattle.

Louis just nods with his lips pursed, poorly concealed regret written all over his face.

“You know, I love you, right?” Harry says, voice breaking in perfect sync with his heart.

The silence that follows makes Harry die a little bit more. He can only take so much pain.

 

“Just go”, he murmurs, “go”.

The blue of Louis’ eyes is slightly blurred. He inhales sharply, as if he wants to say something, but then he stops himself. He moves closer and presses a barely there kiss into Harry’s cold forehead.

Louis, who made him feel alive just a few hours ago; Louis, whose hands pressed into Harry’s skin like a permanent seal; the feathery-haired boy, whose bites are now blooming all over his body in bruises, hurting the way only love can hurt. The same boy who made him fall apart on this very bed, he kisses him goodbye. 

Harry turns away and puts his arms around himself. He doesn’t want to watch him leave.

He knows he’ll get over it eventually, he won’t always feel empty.

But he has never felt so numb before.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this doesn't have a happy ending. But sometimes it happens. Not everything's supposed to have a happy ending.  
> I deliberately left some things unsaid, so it's open for interpretaton. Thank you for reading. x


End file.
